you there / lost in sleep in the luxury of our thousand-dollar Paris suite while I'm wide awake four a.m. / I have a spatula and a bell crock of butter so I start glazing your forehead / and just as on your morning toast the butter softens on contact / spreads so smoothy / yet you don't wake / I move on to your cheeks and chin with little swirls like icing a wedding cake / you give a soft snort of delight but that's probably just a dream / you are always so happy in your dreams I glide the...